


How Gardens Grow

by PARNEL



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Im fucking with every timeline just completely forget everything, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26556016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PARNEL/pseuds/PARNEL
Summary: The boy scoffed.“An efficient idea, though I've always been led to believe that good gardens require effort.” The boy retorted, approaching the stone wall that divided their back yards. He thrust a sweaty hand out amiably towards Tom, a wry grin stretched across his lips.“Harry Potter.” He introduced.Tom took Harry’s hand, and flashed a polite smile.“Tom Riddle.”
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	How Gardens Grow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a weird AU because I wanted Tomarry but also I wanted Dumbledore and Grindelwald being their dads? So, Harry, Tom, and an assortment of other characters are now born in the 1900s, and Dumbledore and Grindelwald never met as teenagers. Ariana dies young due to being an Obscurus, so there is no betrayal between Albus and Gellert.

_He who_ _binds_ _to himself a joy_

_Does the winged life_ _destroy_

_He who kisses the joy as it flies_

_Lives in eternity’s sunrise_

_-William Blake_

July 31st, 1918 

Wherever the rain fell, it left tiny pocket marks in the soil. Overlapping, these marks collected until they overwhelmed the dirt and pressed it down into flat, slick mud. The flowers from their garden drooped under the weight of the downpour, petals bruising with every decisive _plop_ of water that fell on them. 

Harry watched this happen from his cushioned window seat. His green eyes glossy and dazed with boredom as droplets rolled down the glass panes of his and Albus’ home. It was early- far too early for a teenage boy to be awake. The sun hadn’t even fully risen yet! Its red-gold light spilled just _slightly_ over the horizon, painting the rain clouds and their little house in Godric’s Hollow with its warm hues. Harry yawned and brought a hand up to brush his wild curls from his forehead. His fingers skimming thoughtfully over his scar, a shaky breath escaping his lips. 

He was- _grateful._ So, so grateful for Dumbledore. The man had taken him in nine years ago. Snatched Harry up from the Dursleys (who were similarly grateful to be rid of their _freak_ and go back to being a perfectly normal, respectable family) and brought him into his home and his life. The older man had told Harry that he was a _Wizard,_ that he had _magic!_ He’d revealed a whole new world to Harry. One where he got to go to Hogwarts and have friends, one where he had a home that he looked forward to returning to, and bed that wasn’t underneath a staircase. 

Despite his gratitude towards the man, Harry often found Dumbledore to be frustratingly secretive. With time he had come to understand that it was more of a personality trait of Dumbledore’s rather than a sign of his distrust in Harry. He didn’t often share his thoughts with Harry, but one time he had revealed just why he had taken Harry in. 

Harry’s parents -who had been neighbors and good friends of Albus’- along with a man named Peter Pettigrew, had been murdered by their _friend,_ Sirus Black. Harry as an infant had almost been killed during the attack but had miraculously survived with only a scar on his forehead to show for it. He’d been given to his muggle relatives, where it was assumed Harry would grow up safely (Harry had balked at that, for he most certainly had _not_ been safe with Dursleys in any way). Eight years later, Dumbledore’s sister, Ariana, died tragically young. The older man was stubbornly silent as to the cause of her death, but Harry had gleaned that it may have been caused by some rare magical illness. After his sister's death, Albus regretted that he had not been as attentive to her when she was alive. He’d explained to Harry that her death spurred him to check in on his old neighbor’s son, to make sure he was alright since he’d heard that Harry had been given to a muggle family. 

What he’d found was a dirty, starved eight-year-old boy living _in a cupboard_. Harry was obviously mistreated by the Dursleys, and Dumbledore -still emotionally raw over his sister’s death- decided that he would not sit back and allow Harry to remain in such a situation. With little opposition from the Dursleys, Dumbledore had been able to take Harry in. Life, since then, had been radically different for the both of them in the most positive of ways... 

Creaking from the front door drew Harry from his memories, and he turned from the window to watch Albus come in. The thirty-seven-year-old's wild electric yellow and blue robes were soaked, but the hastily wrapped box in his arms was dry. Albus absent mindedly waved a hand and his clothes were immediately dried in an impressive display of wandless magic. 

“Harry? Where are- _Oh_. Harry, come here.” Dumbledore called out distractedly. He hadn’t even closed the front door, just set down his package on a table by the door before leaning his head curiously out to stare at something. 

Amused at his guardians’ antics, Harry left the window seat to pad over to the door. Leaning curiously underneath one of Albus’ electric blue sleeves to peer outside. 

“Huh. Looks like we have new neighbors.” Harry commented, Albus merely hummed in agreement. 

Two tall men stood in the rain in front of the house besides theirs, each toting a suitcase. From where Harry was, he could make out that one man was older with strikingly pale blond hair. Besides him stood a much younger but equally tall man, with rich brown hair and a sharp profile. After a few moments Bathilda Bagshot, the woman who lived in the home, emerged and joyously greeted the two men. Harry and Albus couldn't hear what she was saying, but they watched as she pinched the younger man's cheeks affectionately (who, based on his stiff posture, did not appreciate her affection) and gestured for them to come inside. 

Harry lost interest in their new neighbors, turning his attention to the mysterious package Dumbledore had brought with him. 

“How about we head inside? If you stare any longer, people are going to think you’ve turned into one of those nosey old men that watch their neighbors.” Harry teased with a grin, tugging gently on the colorful sleeve of Albus’ robe. 

Albus turned reluctantly, as if he didn’t want to remove his eyes from the two men, his nose scrunched in amusement underneath his half-moon spectacles. 

“I am not quite _that_ old yet, Harry.” Albus chided, patting a hand fondly on the boy’s black curly haired head. He closed the front door and turned towards the kitchen with his package, Harry trailing curiously behind him. As they passed the stairs besides the kitchen they ran into Honoria, Albus’ aunt who lived with them. The older woman meandered down the stairs towards them, still in her nightgown with her hair braided messily. 

“Albus? Did you get the – _you know_?” Honoria questioned, squinting suspiciously at Harry. 

Dumbledore huffed, amused. 

“Of course. Why don’t you join us in the kitchen? I’ll put on some tea.” The red-haired man led them, Harry suspiciously glancing between both Albus and Honoria as they went. 

When they entered the kitchen, Harry moved to where Fawkes was sitting on a perch inside the room to scritch at his feathered chin fondly, listening to the patter of rain outside and Albus’ merry humming as he heated up the kettle. Harry moved away from the phoenix to sit at their oak table with Honoria, he prodded curiously at the wrapped box on the table until the older woman slapped his hand away. 

“What’s in this box, anyway?” Harry finally questioned, drawing surprised looks from the two adults. 

“You haven’t remembered?” Honoria questioned as Albus used magic to direct the kettle to pour them some tea. Harry shook his head no, nearly dislodging his round glasses from the movement. Albus came around and theatrically lifted the wrapping off the box with a wave of his hand, revealing a small round chocolate cake, bedecked with fresh raspberries and green icing leaves. 

“Happy Birthday, Harry.” Albus said kindly, his eyes twinkling in amusement at Harry’s shocked face as he remembered what day it was. Honoria laughed at his bug-eyed expression and ruffled his hair. 

“I cannot believe you forgot! Here I was worried that our little surprise would be ruined.” She teased; Harry playfully batted her hand away from his head and scrunched his face into an expression of mock irritation. 

“It’s early! How’m I supposed to remember things at-” He glanced at a strange green clock in the corner of the room that Albus had bought from a shifty wizarding furniture store “-seven in the morning? During the _summer!”_ Harry cried, throwing his hands into the air. 

“That clock is an hour off, Harry. It is actually six in the morning.” Albus commented wryly as he placed a slice of cake in front of the now seventeen-year-old boy. Harry groaned tormentedly, slapping his hands over his face as Honoria cackled. 

“Why do we keep that thing if it’s broken, Albus?” Honoria questioned around a mouthful of chocolate cake, the spinster having no shame in talking with her mouth full when around family. 

Dumbledore squinted fondly at the (hideous, in Harry’s opinion) green clock on the wall. 

“It has a charm to it.” Was all he replied, his voice vague. 

Harry and Honoria sighed, fondly exasperated by the man's eclectic quirks. 

They all settled down at the table, savoring the cake as well as the cool early morning air. Albus and Honoria started talking about what Harry privately labeled in his head as _‘Old People Things’_. 

“New neighbors? Hmm. I'll have to check in with Bathilda sometime for tea. Perhaps I'll learn some new gossip, maybe even meet these mysterious new wizards.” Honoria commented, looking gleeful at the prospect of new gossip material to chatter about with the other witches and wizards in Godric’s Hollow. 

“Perhaps,” Albus replied noncommittally, eying his aunt bemusedly before seeming to remember something. 

“Ah, Harry, I have something for you.” Albus rummaged around in a pocket of his robe before his hand emerged holding a smartly wrapped gift. Harry unwrapped it slowly, pretty sure as to what was inside it. 

It was –as expected- a pair of fuzzy socks. Every year Albus bought Harry a pair of warm, if eccentric looking, socks. This year's pair was emerald green and embroidered with little gold snakes that were charmed to wriggle around whenever you wore them. Harry thanked Albus with a hug, while Honoria scoffed into her cup of tea. 

“You always get him socks, Albus. Why don’t you ever get him something a teenage boy can _actually_ use?” She questioned. 

“I like socks, Honoria. Besides, I don’t see you with a better gift.” Harry defended, glancing around the empty table pointedly. Honoria only smiled smugly. 

“My gift should be here any-” She was cut off by a loud rap at their window. They all turned towards the noise. 

“Hedwig!” Harry cried, rushing to the window to let the poor soaked owl inside. As soon the window was open, Hedwig rushed in toting a wrapped broom in her claws. After receiving a treat from Honoria and leaving the gift with Harry, Hedwig settled onto the bird perch besides the table with Fawkes, pressing her chilled wings to the Phoenix’s naturally warmer ones. 

“A broom?” Harry asked excitedly, tearing the wrapping paper away quickly. Eager to see exactly what _type_ of broom he’d been gifted. 

“A _Firebolt_?” Harry cried wondrously, he cradled the broom handle in his hands as though it’d break any second. 

“Of course. Nothing but the best for my favorite quidditch player.” Honoria replied fondly, Harry all but launched himself into her arms. The woman sent a smug look over Harry’s shoulder at Albus, to which Albus merely smiled fondly. 

“Thank you, Aunt Honoria.” replied Harry, his voice muffled in her grey-streaked hair. A warm, joyful feeling building in his chest as he clutched the socks and broom close to his chest. 

The woman glanced outside to see that the rain had let up, allowing sunlight to spill across the garden and through the window. 

“It’s stopped raining, why don’t you go outside for a while and test out your new broom?” The woman offered; Harry paused for a moment. 

“Are you sure? If you and Albus need help cleaning-” Harry started but Honoria waved a hand to dismiss his suggestion. 

“It’s your _birthday,_ Harry. Go on, enjoy it.” Honoria insisted, smiling reassuringly. The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes crinkled with her smile. 

“Go on, my boy.” Albus encouraged. 

Harry left them with another hug before rushing excitedly from the back door of the house. Out in the garden, surrounded by dew-kissed flowers and flora, Harry settled his legs around his new Firebolt, sucked in a breath, and then took off into the sky. 

__________________________________________________________________ 

Bathilda Bagshot’s home could be only be described as _cramped_. Parchments and scrolls and books were sprawled across almost every surface. The historian herself was not overly irritating, but her cramped little house and her constant presence grated on Tom’s nerves. 

Gellert thought Tom’s irritation was amusing. The thirty-seven-year-old man (though Tom privately thought Gellert acted more like a meddlesome child than a man in his late thirties) had sprawled himself across one of the overly plush sofas in Bathilda’s house with a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ held loosely in his hands. He was watching with a smirk as the normally charming Tom Riddle stumbled through interactions with the old woman. 

Tom politely excused himself when he’d noticed the rain had cleared, claiming to want to look at the garden out back. Gellert sent a smarmy smile at him as he left, which only served to irritate Tom further. 

Outside, the nineteen-year-old paced in Bathilda’s soggy little garden. 

He was not normally so _agitated_ _._

Gellert and Tom had been building up too much traction back in the German wizarding community. They’d quietly amassed a great deal of wizards to their cause, all a part of Gellerts’ plan to encourage the wizarding world to fight back against the _muggles_. Tom sneered at a rosebush as he thought the word. 

However, they’d been too hasty. 

The wizarding authorities had caught wind of their secret gatherings and campaigns. Gellert wanted to stay anonymous until the time was right to reveal themselves, until they could take control over the wizarding world. So, they’d had to flee. Instructing their followers to lie low while Gellert and Tom went somewhere safe until the attention died down. 

That “somewhere safe” was, apparently, Gellert’s great aunt’s home in Godric’s Hollow. Tom knew that Gellert was fine with being out of the spotlight for a while, as that meant he had free time to research his little obsession- the _Deathly Hallows_ . Tom knew the only reason Gellert kept him around was because Tom did not hold a very strong interest in obtaining the Hollows and wasn’t a threat that would attempt to steal them if Gellert ever acquired them. No, Tom’s interests were focused on something else he’d recently found, _Horcruxes_. 

It was something that they had in common that Tom would acknowledge; the tendency to become obsessed with certain magical objects, their similar cravings for power and knowledge, their goals to change the world and their hatred of muggles. Were it not for those shared traits and values, Tom was sure he would find Gellert unbearable. The man was... _emotional._ He grew attached to things, to people and places. He was temperamental and wild at times, and worst of all Tom knew that the man considered himself a _father figure_ for Tom. 

Perhaps, Tom conceded, Gellert could be considered something like his father. 

On a trip to England in his early twenties, Gellert had come across a seven-year-old Tom and took him from Wools Orphanage. Teaching and training him to control his magic, feeding and providing shelter for Tom, and encouraging him to pursue his interests in dark magic and Parseltongue. Tom wasn’t oblivious to Gellert’s attempts to manipulate through caring for him, so that Tom –a powerful wizard, even at the young age of nineteen- would be loyal to him. It might have worked on some other poor neglected young orphan, but Tom was much too cunning to fall for such things. 

When one thought about it, the plot had ironically reversed itself on Gellert. 

Tom held no _love_ for Gellert _,_ while Gellert had become attached to Tom as though Tom truly was his child. 

It was no matter, however, as Tom respected Gellert as a powerful wizard and as his partner working towards freeing wizards from the oppression of muggles. He was not likely to betray Gellert anytime soon. Though, perhaps once their goals were achieved... 

Tom scowled, mood shifting back to irritation. Once _he_ was in power, he could finally rid the world of those filthy _muggles-_

“Have the rosebushes done something to offend you?” A teasing voice cut into Tom’s thoughts, jerking him back to reality. 

He looked up towards where the voice had drifted from and caught sight of a boy floating in the air not far above him, lightly sitting on a broom. 

“Is it because they’re a little shabby? Maybe you should water them for Bathilda sometime, instead of staring at them like they killed your pet bunny.” The boy quipped dryly, bringing his broom to the ground gracefully, as though he were a bird gliding down to its perch. 

‘ _Rude_ ,’ Tom thought idly, raising a brow. 

“I could dig them up and toss them, to save the effort of coaxing them back to life.” Tom offered. 

Tom took in the boys’ features as he drew closer. Wild, black curls were swept away from his face to reveal a strange lightning-shaped scar and flushed pale cheeks. He was shorter than Tom, like most people were. What drew Tom the most were his eyes; _green_ , so very green. The exact same color as the killing curse. 

‘ _Beautiful,’_ Tom’s thoughts amended, a mask of charming politeness sliding onto his face. 

The boy scoffed. 

“An efficient idea, though I've always been led to believe that good gardens require _effort.”_ The boy retorted, approaching the stone wall that divided their back yards. He thrust a sweaty hand out amiably towards Tom, a wry grin stretched across his lips. 

“Harry Potter.” He introduced. 

Tom took Harry’s hand, which was much smaller, and flashed a polite smile. 

“Tom Riddle.” 

__________________________________________________________________ 

Later that evening, they were seated at their table once again, enjoying dinner. Honoria had today’s paper stretched in her hands, it was loudly titled: 

_‘MYSTERIOUS DARK LORD VANISHES FROM GERMANY: AUTHORITIES ON THE LOOKOUT,’_

_“_ This “Dark Lord” is quite a radical, don’t you think, Albus?” Honoria commented, her wrinkled lips pursing in disapproval. 

“Hm... His ideas are certainly extreme, but I can see where some may see the appeal in them. He’s clever, I doubt he will be caught anytime soon.” Albus replied thoughtfully, his blue eyes shifting across the printed text. 

“I think he’s a coward. He doesn’t ever reveal himself! Only people afraid of being exposed as frauds or lunatics would ever conceal themselves so... excessively.” Honoria scoffed. 

The conversation about the Dark Lord died out not long after that. There truly was not much to say about him because not much was known, other than his ideas and visions for a 'Better World'. They soon moved onto other, more mundane topics. Little things, like Albus returning to be the DADA professor at Hogwarts and idle musing over what new materials Harry would need for his classes this year. During a lull in conversation, Harry decided to spill what he’d been holding in all evening, waiting to stir the pot with his well-timed gossip. 

“I met one of our mysterious new neighbors today.” Harry commented with faux boredom. He’d chatted with the new neighbor, who was... interesting. Harry would say. 

Strange, handsome, and charming. He would not say. 

Honoria whipped her head towards him with interest, eyes wide and ready to pry every last second of their interaction from Harry’s lips, but Albus beat her to the punch. 

“Oh? Which one did you meet?” Albus questioned lightly, looking at Harry with a sort of calm interest. 

“The younger with dark hair, Tom. He was interesting. Says Bathilda is his father’s great aunt, they’re staying with her for some months to get away from their hometown for a while.” 

“Ah, how nice. Perhaps we’ll be seeing him at Hogwarts this upcoming semester then?” Albus questioned. Harry scrunched up his nose in thought. 

“I think he may have graduated already, maybe from another school?” Harry thought he looked just a _bit_ too old to be a student. Albus let out an understanding “Ah.”. 

“Did _you_ meet either of them today?” Honoria questioned Albus with interest. 

Albus hesitated with a forkful of food halfway to his lips. At the sight of both Harry and Honoria’s eager expressions, He sighed and set the fork down, raking a hand through his red hair in thought. 

“Yes _,_ Gellert Grindelwald, the blonde man. He recognized me; he’s read some of my papers on trans-species Transfiguration and said he found them insightful and... brilliant.” Albus trailed, his cheeks coloring the same shade as his hair. Honoria whistled. 

“Was he handsome?” She asked. Albus did not dignify her question with a response, but she took his silence as a _yes_. 

__________________________________________________________________ 

Harry lied in his bed that night surrounded by opened gifts from Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and a few others. Blissfully happy after he’d read the letters from Ron and Hermione that’d come with their gifts. He blew out the candle on his nightstand, and swaddled himself in the fluffy quilts that layered his bed. 

He stayed awake for a few moments, gazing out of his open window at the open night sky as an evening breeze lazily blew into his room. When he’d lived at the Dursley’s, even his most wistful and hopeful dreams couldn’t have compared to how he felt right now. 

Pine and honeysuckle greeted his nose, scents heavy in the air as cicadas buzzed loudly outside, Harry had almost fallen asleep when a murmur of voices from down below his second story window caught his attention. He slipped from his bed silently, bare feet padding across his wooden floor. Gently shushing Hedwig in her cage by the window, Harry hesitantly peered out around the sill and the green vines that curled up the side of their house. 

Tom and... Gellert? Were outside, arguing beneath a streetlamp. 

“Stay here... return.... the _Hallows_...” Harry could barely make out their voices, but he didn’t want to chance using his wand just in case the two men noticed him, so he leaned a little further out the window with his ear canted downwards. 

“We don’t know when we will be needed back... the Acolytes-” Tom’s voice started, only to be cut off by Gellert. 

“-won’t be gone that long, Tom. Stay with-” 

“ _Fine._ But if you’re _caught-”_

“I won’t be. Quit fretting, little snake. I’ll be back before you know it.” Gellert retorted fondly, Tom let out what Harry could only describe as an angry _hiss_ before the two separated, Gellert disapparating and Tom tensely returning inside. 

Harry slid down to sit on the floor before scooting back to his bed, irrationally nervous that he would still be spotted. 

That had been strange, and suspicious. Acolytes? What did he mean? And were they being tracked down? By whom? And _why?_

Thoughts raced wildly around Harry’s head, concocting wild theories about his new neighbors. Perhaps Harry had been too quick to trust Tom Riddle? He’ll need to keep a closer eye on the two men during the coming weeks. Something about them felt _wrong_ , and Harry was going to find out why. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tom refuses to acknowledge that he cares about his not-dad, and Harry is Nosey.


End file.
